Far Away
by Moonsetta
Summary: An AU. 21-year old Dick Grayson protects Gotham City as Nightwing, but his life takes a turn for the worse and better due to an 8-year old Bruce Wayne.
1. Chapter 0 (Prologue)-Thirteen

Dick Grayson breathed a sigh of relief at the sight inside the library. His aunt/maid had collapsed into the chair by the fire, her favorite quilt pulled snugly around her shoulders. Closing the door quietly, the man slowly backed away down the hallway until he came to a more familiar door. He smirked and quickly stepped inside-holding his breath while he turned the lock. Hearing nothing in response- he turned slightly to his right and flipped on a floor lamp decorated with silver and gold thread. His aunt had fallen in love with the thing when they had spotted it in a store front window in India. He didn't mind that it was in his study.

Letting his blue eyes sweep over the room, the orbs stopped on the pile of paperwork on his desk. All done of course! -Not that he LIKED doing paperwork. Boring!

But finally, with Harriet asleep she couldn't begrudge him a second patrol for the night!  
When his eyes zoomed in on the poster in the corner he smiled sadly at the faces smiling back and mouthed the words as he walked towards it.

Haley's Circus Presents:

THE FEARLESS FLYING GRAYSONS!

Had it truly been 13 years since that day?

Well, he could allow his thoughts to drift that way later. He did feel the pang every time he saw the old poster and though the pain never grew more or less intense his heart was able to endure it more easily each day.

13 years today.

He hoped it didn't mean any omen for his second patrol tonight. His first pathway on his earlier patrol near the docks had just been Firefly trying to steal some old AK-47 shipments that had been heading to the museum. Funny thing was-the old arms hadn't even worked when the criminal had tried them.

Shaking away the rest of his unnecessary thoughts, Dick peeled back the lower left corner of the poster and pressed in a hand-sized hidden panel. With a quiet swift swish!-a hidden door swung back behind his desk and he held back a quiet whoop as he walked to it rapidly. The routine had been the same for three years now and he made a mental note to redecorate the passageway to his HQ. It was getting a little boring. After a few steps he grabbed onto what appeared to be a red rope. He let out a happy yelp as he unlocked the clip around it and went flying upwards thanks to the elastic wire the rope really was.  
Of course the flight only lasted a few seconds before a red light and long beep in the distance gave him the warning to let go, although he knew the flight by heart after so many years. He released the giant 'rubber band' and grinned as his feet hit a metal grated platform.

One step forward- Lights on!

Two steps-Main computer on!

Three steps: The Nightbird rising on another platform

Four steps: The Gotham City News flashed onto the computer

The fifth step: He was in front of his suit.

Blue against black, the metaphorical strait dip of a great bird's wings across the thin chest plate and down the arms all the way to the gloves.

So Harriet HAD gotten to it earlier, given this suit was lacking the slash on the shoulder he had gotten from one of Firefly's men. He'd lost count of how many suits he'd gone through over his crime fighting career.

"This Just In! The Sidesell Jewelry Shop has just erupted in a rush of fire-and there goes the signal!"

Well, looks like he was needed. Suiting up was fast and simple. The Slevlar material was great; although it would probably be another few nights before he was completely comfortable with it, given the new updated once-Kevlar had only been switched out just a week before. Time for that later though-his daytime clothes hit the grated floor of the platform and his suit quickly replaced said clothes. The last things on were his blue and black gloves, the long line of blue stretching out into fingerstripes, and his black boots.

They were so freaking awesome!

In no time at all he was strapped into his car, The Nightbird, and racing off down a different tunnel that lead down a ramp. He probably should have taken his bike instead, after all he was the only one-Oh well!

Little did he know that he would need the car for something very important during the night; something that would affect him for the rest of his life.

* * *

Based on a picture titled, "Batman 'nd DC eldood" by MystroTheDefender on DeviantART.

Seriously, why though? It was so weird. I was just browsing pictures, saw the picture and then BAM! This giant freaking elephant-sized plotbunny plops right down on my mental back and I HAVE to get it off!

I'm really just writing this one for fun. I'm beginning to map out fitting the other characters into this as well, Jason, Helena, Tim, Kate, etc...in fact if you are actually reading this and want a cannon character in the story, just mention them-I'll be happy to add them.

~Moonsetta


	2. Chapter 1-A Second Step

"I don't like it," James Gordon, commissioner of the GCPD muttered to the night as he stared down at the smoking pipe in his hands, "I don't like it one bit."

"Newsflash, Commissioner! You never have."

The policeman whipped around in shock but then grumbled at the sight of blue against black, "I don't know who taught you that-but I don't like 'em."

A smirk decorated the vigilante's face as he strolled forward and threw off the light that beamed his signal onto the clouds that blanketed the city on a normal basis.

"So, what do you got?"

The elder man took a drag from his pipe before clenching it between his teeth and burying his hands into the pockets of his overcoat, "It's the same-a gear."

Nightwing's eyebrows rose behind his mask, "Again?"

The Commissioner pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket and held it out to his friend. Taking it slowly (you never knew when something could be booby-trapped) the younger gave it a slow gaze-over. It was a small gear, about as big as the top of a pickle jar. Boy, he was hungry all of a sudden. As usual, his masked eyes lingered on the strait and slightly curved lines of the letter 'S' on the gear, as he had when the last three had been found at other spontaneous fires around the city.

"Any motive in sight?" the hero asked as he handed the gear back.

"If it was just the jewelry store I would've said it was typical greed," Gordon said as  
he pocketed the bag and his hand once again, it was an awfully cold night.

How Nightwing ran around in a skin-tight costume on the coldest winter nights was beyond him.

"But that doesn't explain the fire at the abandoned warehouse, the central park pool house or the empty trailer," the vigilante said, his eyes focused on the rooftop beneath their feet in concentration.

Shivering, Gordon removed his hands from his pockets and blew his breath into them before he looked back up to see the hero ready to jump from the rooftop.

"Hey, if you aren't busy for the rest of the night-I left my coffee maker on."

Nightwing turned and smiled brightly, "A hot cup of coffee actually sounds wonderful."

* * *

After two cups of the caffeine explosion his dear friend called a 'casual' conversation cup, Nightwing left the Nightbird in an alleyway out of sight while he took to the rooftops. He needed to run off the energy now and with the way the Commissioner made his coffee-well, there was no telling how long he would actually be out here.

Gotham city was actually quite calm for the night. The lapses in crime happened from time to time, usually when something big went public. Strange thing was though, that neither the GCPD nor he had made any big hits on any kind of crime lately. It could only mean that something big was about to come up. If it was true he could expect to start seeing signs about two weeks before.

Except perhaps where this new guy was concerned…whoever he was.

Maybe he was just thinking into it too deeply. It was probably better he head home after he finished running off the caffeine and then relook over the recent crime breaks in the city in the morning. The case just needed fresh eyes.

Of course, given the acrobat he was, he always had a bountiful supply of energy and the caffeine would take quite a while to burn through. So, he allowed himself to be lost in his memories. He did make it a habit to think about his parents every day-but he made certain that he didn't mourn them on their death-anniversary.

Oh man, was that even the right word to use in that sentence?

He didn't visit their graves on the day of their death, but he did visit on holidays and their birthdays.

Anyways, right…memories.

* * *

What to do with the past? Hmm...

Please leave a review with suggestions for the plotline or even mention a character you would like me to introduce into this universe.

I already have plans for introducing, Bruce Wayne, of course, Selina, Barbara, The Joker and Alfred. If you want any other characters please just mention them-but please, only one at a time? And canon-characters ONLY. No OCs.

~Moonsetta


	3. Chapter 2-Circular Path

_The lights of the circus were always bright and happy. Replacing the bulbs was usually left to any maintenance worker the circus could find nearby, pay once and be done with. Whoever it ended up being always got a rare look at the acrobat family when they practiced from above. Every one of them admitted that it was a whole different show from above than below in the audience wooden bleachers. One time Dick had even changed one himself and he made special sure to swing up to the ceiling and meet every maintenance man face-to-face. The bright blue eyed boy would usually pull them into a talk about how he didn't understand why so many people were afraid of heights. Unlike many fears, with this one all you had to fight was gravity._

_Only one man revealed that he had actually been afraid of heights in his earlier working years._

_"How'd you get over it?" Dick had asked._

_"I jumped off a burning bridge," the elder said with a shrug._

_The boy's mouth had fallen open and he had hung there with the man for near an hour listening to the story._

_That had been earlier on the same day that the young boy's life would change forever._  
_They had been playing in Gotham City that night and the event would mark the city as his permanent residence for the remainder of his lifetime. Ironically, it was just two weeks after his birthday and the night would be the one where he would show off his parents' birthday present to him. After their normal small party, his parents had taken him inside the main tent where the high wires were set up._

_It was the ideal time to begin learning the quadruple somersault. He would need it later._  
_He had practiced until his hands bled through the layers of bandages he had had to wrap around his hands. He only ever remembered crying about bloody hands once when he was four. At age six the bloody hands actually saved him from a fall. The blood had made the bandages slip and he learned that he could use them as a sort of rope during his show._  
_Waving down at the crowd after his quad had set the whole tent ablaze with cheers, Dick Grayson heaved his breaths and felt on top of the world. He swore his smile had never been so bright. After basking in the glow of praise and awe he turned back to the opposite platform and relaxed the strain on his lungs. When he was ready he signaled to his parents, who were ready to swing out for their final performance and were both _  
_looking at him with such pride-_

_He was the luckiest kid on earth!_

_Dick tilted his head back, still beaming and reached upward to grab his own trapeze wire. While his parents would be swinging out, he'd be plunging downward before the elastic wire shot him back up into the air. There, at that second, he would catch his mother's hands. They would swing back, she would let go-he would grab the swing his father threw out to him and then-_

_Deadman's Tri Drop._

_It would be awesome and he was already giddy!_

_Of course-_

_Like a cold…fate can be cruel._

_If he hadn't tilted his head back that far, if hadn't been small, then he wouldn't have seen the maintenance man. He was standing on the thin metal banisters that supported the tent holding a-GUN!_

_Before he could scream, his mother was swinging and the shot rang out. A marksman for sure, the bullet sliced through the wire his mother was hanging from._

_Mary Grayson fell, shouting her son's name during her last breath._

_Wait, his dad-!_

_Too late, a second bullet cut through the wire holding the platform John Grayson was standing on and sent the man downward to the ground-the same as his wife._

_Despite hitting the ground at different times, the beloved parents' bones seemed to break and shatter all at one moment in Dick's mind and even though he heard it, he didn't move when a human shadow fell over his own. He was going to turn around quickly and sharply, but then the mystery man's hand was around his neck and pulling him up to showcase to the crowd. _

_Dick couldn't hear the crowd, only his own scream as he was tossed from the platform._

* * *

A/N: Beware-long author's note-skip if you want.

OK, explanation time:

I wanted to keep Dick's past pretty much the same-but due to the fact that there was no 'Batman' there I had to go about making the villain more public. Therefor I had to make the weapon public as well. I know there aren't many knives that could cut those high wire cables and I couldn't use the acid theory because then the madman would have had no use to appear there-he would've run away while this happened.

And if you noticed, he shot and cut the cables so, 1. He's one heck of a good shot and 2. This was planned.

That's one of the things I liked about Bruce's and Dick's past. Mary and John Grayson died due to organized crime, Martha and Thomas Wayne died because of a random mugging. The comparison is just...intriguing.

Anyways, I was hesitant about using a gun, but it was an obvious weapon, could do the job, and given that Mary and John weren't shot directly, I can use the excuse that it won't give Dick that wary feeling of guns. Which will help with his civilian job, which you can probably guess.

Now, in the next chapter we'll get lots of drama and we'll meet two essential supporting characters.

Oh, and due to popular demand, mostly here on -I will be bringing in a stalker-Timmy!

OK, that was a long note. If you want any characters in the story that I don't already have plans for-let me know! Canon characters only! No OCs!

Characters I have plans for:  
Bruce Wayne (Obviously)  
Tim Drake  
Selina Kyle  
Jason Todd  
The Joker (he just HAS to be in this story)  
Alfred Pennyworth

Anyways, see you in the next chapter!

Have any story ideas you can tribute? Just leave a review!

~Moonsetta


	4. Chapter 3-Below and Above

Feeling that that was all the memory he could stand at the moment, Dick Grayson found himself focusing on a crowded street, back in the suit of Nightwing. He was downtown and staring at bright, flashing lights from the rooftop of a bakery.

Across the street was a movie theater, the lights too similar for him not to realize that the brightness was pulling him back into the memory. He shook his head physically-as if it honestly WOULD shake the thoughts from his mind. For a moment he considered dropping in and sneakily seeing a movie for free but-nah!  
The theater only had two movies playing anyways. He could count on one hand how many times he actually WANTED to see 'Titanic' and 'The Mark of Zorro,' from the looks of it, was just about to end. He sighed and settled himself on the edge of the bakery rooftop.

Bored…

"Nightwing, there you are! I thought you would've been back at home."

The blue and black themed hero turned and smiled at the sight of a friend, "Superman? You're far from Metropolis."

The Man-of-Steel himself, all suited up in red and blue floated down until his feet came to rest atop the bakery rooftop, "Metropolis is quieter than your NightTower."

The younger hero snorted and leaned back as his best friend settled down beside him, "You here for League business?"

"Actually, no. I really am just that bored. Besides, I already had the meeting with NASA."  
Nightwing released a long breath, "Thanks for that by the way. After I met with the UN last week I swear I lost a few years of my life to their death glares."

Superman smiled, "Happy to help. So, how's Gotham?"

"Quiet. Something big is coming."

"…"

"…"  
"You know it's easier to see the movie INSIDE the theater?"

Nightwing bent forward and laughed, covering his mouth with his gloved hand, "I know. I just stopped here because Gordon got me hyped on caffeine earlier."

"Oh gosh, remind me NEVER to have coffee with him again," the Kryptonian muttered, shuddering at his own past experience.

The younger hero snickered and let his eyes travel back to the sign of the movie theater  
across the street. The Mark of Zorro would be over any minute now. Titanic had another hour. Weird, the theaters normally didn't show movies this late…

Was that something he should file under 'suspicious?'

Maybe. Maybe Not.

Wait a minute-

"Can I ask you a really random question?" Nightwing muttered.

"You do all the time," Superman replied with a sideways smile.

"Why is that 'maybe' always means 'yes or no' except when it's paired with 'maybe not' in a sentence?"

"…"

Nightwing blinked under his mask.

"Hmm, and I thought I was bored."

The two friends shared a laugh.

That's when the doors to the theater opened and the crowd from the 'Mark of Zorro' filed out.

"Well, I can see your city is as quiet as mine," Superman muttered, beginning to rise into the air once again.

"Go home and bother Lois. I'm sure she has something to rant about it," Nightwing replied.

"I sincerely hope not. Why does she not understand that I have sensitive hearing?"

The younger vigilante laughed again, always seeing the humor in his friend's words, "OK, I'll see you at the Watchtower on Friday?"

A nod and the Man of Steel flew off at a speed that would make Barry Allen, the Scarlet Speedster, jealous.

The once again, lone-vigilante stared down at the emptying street and got to his feet slowly. Stretching his hands up towards the night sky, he finally felt his muscles tightening. He would begin a light rooftop hopping back and meet the Nightbird halfway.  
Or at least-that had been his original plan until he spotted something unusual down the street. A man in a long dark trench coat and blue hat was keeping awfully close to the buildings on the side of the road. The hat blanketed his face in shadows and his shoulders were hunched up very high. If it didn't yell 'SUSPICIOUS' to any irregular who took up the roles of the tights and masks well-

The man stopped, glanced over the pulled up collar of his coat at the surrounding street, where some people were pulling away in cars or walking off along different sides of the street, before turning and walking down the alleyway. Sigh, probably a drug deal and a small one at that.

Just the kind of crime covered by neighborhood policeman …

Then again, he wasn't too anxious to get home and he was in the thing for community service anyways. So-

Nightwing's normal joyous thoughts were cut through by the sound of a bullet being fired.

CRAP!

He raced across the rooftops as soon as he heard a woman scream.

"THOMAS! YOU KILLED HIM! POLICE! SOMEONE HELP! POLICE!"

A second gunshot rang out as soon as Nightwing's black boots hit the edge of the final rooftop. His jaw dropped at the sight of the same man he had been watching earlier, standing above two bloody bodies while clutching a white purse and holding a gun out towards a small boy on his knees in front of him.

The vigilante FLEW from the rooftop, one hand jabbing an ecrisma stick forward to knock away the gun as it released another bullet. He heard the boy cry out and Nightwing growled as his feet finally hit the ground for the first time of the night. Out came another ecrisma stick and the twins weapons sparked with electricity.

Smacks and sparks erupted in the alleyway as the robber had turned to run.

When the guy was fried and down Nightwing turned around towards the entrance of the alleyway, already gulping at the three dead bodies he KNEW he would see. It was a shock to see the blood itself but the boy-he was kneeling over the larger bodies, crying while his skin and hands were soaking up the blood from them. The third bullet hadn't hit the child!

"Mom! Dad! Wake up! Mommy! Daddy! WAKE UP!"

"Damn," Nightwing whispered and stepped towards the child while putting his weapons away.

"Mommy! Daddy!"

"Kid?"  
The child's eyes snapped up. Terror. Horror. FEAR.

With a shaking breath, Nightwing kneeled down and reached out to feel the chests of the bleeding bodies. Neither was breathing. He checked the man's pulse at the vein in his neck.

Nothing.

All the while the boy was watching in something akin to awe, yet silent tears were still making their way down his pale face. The hero turned to feel for the woman's pulse.

Nothing. Nothing.

BADUMP!

"She's alive!" he whispered and the boy hiccupped.

"Mommy?"

Nightwing tore the emergency respirator breathing mask from the gauntlet pouch on his right arm and got to work.

"What are you doing!" the boy yelled as the vigilante opened the woman's mouth and turned her head to let the blood run out.

"Don't worry this is going to help her breathe until an ambulance gets here."

"My Daddy?"

Breathing mask in place and keeping the woman alive, Nightwing let his arms go slack,

"I'm sorry kid."

"NO! DADDY!"

The boy threw himself onto his father's bloody chest and cried to the high heavens.

Reaching out, the hero began rubbing circles into the boys back as he heard sirens in the  
distance. They were coming fast. Someone must have heard the shots. It took another full minute to coax the boy away from the bloody body of his dead father and out of the pool of blood. In less than a second the boy was curled up in the vigilante's arms-still crying his minute heart out.

Police cars and emergency vehicles blocked both ends of the alleyway as police and medical teams flooded the place. The boy screamed in fright at the sight of the men and Nightwing backed up at the alley's right side wall before motioning the emergency personnel to the two bloody bodies.

"The man's dead. The woman has a heartbeat but she can't breathe on her own."

"Hey Nightwing! This the bastard?"

The hero turned to see a rightfully pissed off Commissioner Gordon pressing the face of the gunman into brick wall some five feet away.

A quick nod and turn of the head so he, legally, did NOT see the vicious right-hook the police Commissioner gave the man and then-he focused back on the boy he hadn't been aware he had scooped up into his arms.

"Mommy…Daddy…" the boy was muttering the words through whines and sobs of every degree.

"Nightwing! We found something!"

The blue and black clothed hero glanced up to meet the eyes of Chief O'Hara, the man looked just as pissed off as the commissioner. Well, Nightwing probably did too but the boy…

"This look familiar?" the police chief asked, holding up a small plastic bag.

Inside was a gear slightly bigger than a bottle cap, with a familiar letter on its face.


	5. Chapter 4-Blackboard

"We found it with the bullet in the man's chest," O'Hara said quietly as he and Gotham's vigilante stood beside an ambulance where the 8-year old boy was being treated for the shock, being wiped of blood and giving sullen answers to a desperately-in-need-of-more-caffeine Commissioner Gordon.

Nightwing's eyes were going from the gear to the boy and back, numerous times before speaking his thoughts aloud, "He's not the madman we've been after, but he might be working for him."

O'Hara's eyes traveled over to the child too, "Damn that monster! My prayers go out to that kid."

As the two of them watched with sorrow, the Commissioner slowly rose from where he had been kneeling in front of the kid and walked over to them.

"I don't understand this. The Waynes! I knew Thomas and Martha both and their son…Don't take this the wrong way old friend but I hoped I wouldn't have to see you again tonight."

The corner of Nightwing's mouth quirked up into a sad smirk before he spoke.

"The feeling is mutual Commissioner, but what about the child? Bruce, isn't it?"

"They're taking him to the hospital so he can be with his mother when they stabilize her. In the meantime, I need you back at Police HQ so we can get answers out of this guy. My men already have him in my cruiser."

Determined eyes met and a sharp nod from the hero sent the three walking towards the street. At least, that had been their intention until the radio on Chief O'Hara's belt came to life.

"Chief!"

"You're clear."

"Relocate the child to police HQ. We just lost Mrs. Wayne."

"Damn!" the cops muttered.

"10-4."

"Great, just perfect! You get the kid Commish."

"I can't. I've got the gunman in my cruiser."

"And I came on my cycle," O'Hara said with a curse.

"I'll bring the kid," Nightwing said, "I have my Nightbird around the corner. I'll meet you guys there in five."

"But-" the chief went to protest but Gordon cut him off.

"Let him, it might help the kid if he's with a superhero."

"Fine."

* * *

Unfortunately, the cops had elected the vigilante to break the news of the dead mother to the child.

So now here he was, refilling a Styrofoam cup from one of those office water dispensers and handing it over to the solemn-looking child that was still shaking slightly.

Nightwing reached out as he sat down next to the boy to steady his hand so the water wouldn't spill over. There had been a big enough mess for one night in Gotham City. The interrogation with the man, who the policemen had identified as a proverbial 'nobody' named Joe Chill, hadn't provided them with much. Now they just had another gear to add to the growing pile. Back to where they were before.

A loud sniff brought Nightwing out of his thoughts. He had long let go of the boy's hand so he could drink himself but now the cup was on the floor, empty. There wasn't much more to do but get to his feet, scoop up the cup and stare back at the boy.

"Do you want anything? More water?"

The boy sniffed, ran a pale hand under his nose and shook his head slowly, "No thank you, Mr. Nightwing."

After throwing the Styrofoam cup into a small trash bin nearby Nightwing knelt in front of the boy-Bruce, who was trying to curl up into a ball on top of the chair he was sitting in. Worried, the hero reached out to run his gloved fingers through the boy's hair.

"Don't worry. Do you know who's going to come and get you?"

The boy's blue eyes flew open and sped to his masked face.

"Come get me?"

"Yeah, an uncle or aunt, a cousin, your grandparents?"

The boys WOW really blue eyes dimmed, "No aunt or uncle so no cousins. My grandparents already died. NO ONE'S COMING FOR ME!"

And with that the boy started crying out loud again.

Crap! He shouldn't have said anything! AH! Didn't this thing have an off switch?

-Right-a child, not a television.

Determined, Nightwing scooped the child up into his arms and held him tightly as the boy tried to fight his way out of the man's grasp. In response, the hero simply reclaimed his previous seat and set the child into his lap while he continued to hold him against his chest. It took ten minutes of screaming and crying before the boy finally gave up his struggle and buried his head into the vigilante's shoulder, clinging to what little of the material of the hero's suit he could grasp.

"Shh, don't worry. Everything is going to be alright. Shh…"

The child's cries fell into quiet hiccups and Nightwing readjusted his hold so he could rub circles into the boy's back again. Gosh, what this boy was going to go through for  
the next few days, weeks…the rest of his life!

"It's weird seeing you with a kid."

The hero's eyes snapped over to the opposite side of the room and smiled sadly at Commissioner Gordon, who was standing at the entrance of the hallway that lead back to the integration room.

"Who's coming for the boy?"

Here, the police officer sighed, ran a hand through his hair and spoke slowly, "Apparently there's no other 'Waynes' out there. The most recent notice was of his grandfather's death in England."

"What about family friends?"

"No one's willing. They're all high society people who leave child rising to servants and maids."

"..."

"So what happens to the kid?"

"There's a temporary foster home nearby he can stay at. We should be able to find a permanent foster home by the end of next week."

In response to all their words, the boy had just fallen silent. His eyes were wide open, but he appeared to be staring at the air around him more than anything. The crying had stopped but Nightwing felt more worried by that than relieved.

Still, he made certain to snag the address of the temporary foster home when the child was taken away by a woman with a high nose, scrunched up eyes, extremely tiny glasses, a red skirt business suit and 6 inch high heels. Miss Flora definitely didn't portray the best…err…good intentions. Yeah, stick with that.


	6. Chapter 5-Worry

Finally back in the Nightbird, Nightwing breathed a long sigh of relief and then a yelp when the communication light flashed on. Harriet was up-he was doomed!

"Master Richard-what do you think you are doing?"

Her voice was loud, yet deep-as always. It had been a constant source of comfort at a younger age for him but at times like these now…

"Turn on the news Harriet-you'll see where I was tonight."

"There had better be a good reason!"

Yep. All the news channels were already covering it. It was only about two minutes later that his Maid called back and with an uncharacteristically soft voice and transcribed her concerns.

"The boy's alright?"

"Yes."

"What's your ETA?"

"20 minutes, I'm going the long way."

Just to get some time to think.

"Will you need anything upon your return Master Richard?"

There was one thing he could…

"Leave my checkbook out on my desk and a marked layout of the Gotham City Cemetery."

"For the Waynes?"

Dick gulped, suddenly uncomfortable with talking, "It's the least I can do. That alleyway, I was just too slow."

"I'll wait up for you."

"Not necessary…but thank you."

Nightwing closed the communication line and set the Nightbird to autopilot so he could ease back into the seat and just…think.

* * *

Bruce Wayne was terrified and broken. Why? Why hadn't he yelled? Why hadn't he moved? Why hadn't he suggested they go to the car the long way? Why had he just frozen? Why hadn't the superhero gotten there sooner? Why hadn't he saved them himself? He could have saved his parents if he had just…

But what good was it now?

He hadn't done anything and now his entire world was shattering before his eyes.  
So now he was in the backseat of some fancy-painted but poorly built car, with a thin, tall, plastic-surgery faced tight-lipped woman upfront steering along a dark road to who-knows-where?

It was ten minutes of tight silence until the car came to a stop in front of a fair sized house that was lavishly decorated, speaking of a wealth that was just enough to enter high society but not enough to make the Gotham citizens within to appear snobbish to the general public. This was going to be his temporary home for now. Everything screamed at the boy to run, the woman's nails in his shoulder as she lead him to the door, the garden decorations suddenly growing gleaming eyes, the grass seeming to grow with just the air, the air itself thickening so it was hard to breath and the knocker echoing to the people within. He did NOT like this at all.

Not one bit.

The woman who answered the door was a maid with a too tight and little outfit. And when one tight long-nailed hand exchanged him into another hand that was exactly the same-he didn't feel any better at all. What was worse though, was when he was lead into the 'Master's' study and the maid left the room, closing the door behind her. He gulped and stared at the man. He was pressed behind a desk, extremely overweight, looked like he had had plastic surgery a dozen or two times over, and was smiling at him with an unfamiliar gleam in his eyes.

"Hello there, dear boy. What's your name?"

"B-Bruce."

His voice and throat were both still dry as a bone so he internally winced at the way his small voice cracked.

"Hello Bruce. I'm Dr. Mallory."

When he stepped around the desk, Bruce trembled and backed into the door. When the man reached for the small boy, his trembling intensified, he began whimpering, he turned quickly and tried to turn the doorknob. He didn't want to be here! He wanted his mom and dad! He wanted to be back home! He should be home! He wanted to go home!

He jumped when the man's long finger-nailed hand curled through the cloth of his jacket, into his shoulder, yanked him backwards and the other hand reached for the front of his jacket.

No…no...


	7. Chapter 6-Sweet N' Sour

Reply to guest review:

Alright then, I'm a retard. Say whatever you want. You're from Newtown then? Calm down, read my username, does it say AJ Crane? Yelling at me isn't going to change AJ Crane's mind.

Look, I'm a fanfiction author-not a reporter. To quote "Reconciliation" by Paganpunk2: "I like the circus, but the media circus can go to hell."

Instead of yelling at and cussing out people for being emotionally disturbed by the event, since you're from the town of the tragedy, why don't you use your knowledge to tell people the actual truth of the event?-Since I know the media is lying left and right. I personally don't believe a word that comes out of a reporter's mouth-they'll do anything for a story.

In fact, why don't you tell me about it right here? I won't delete the reviews if you cut down on the language, there are some children on this site remember. It could be you lost someone important in the tragedy, if so, you could tell me about them. If you need to rant though, which I can understand, I implore you to do so in a private message.

And please try to keep this fact in mind: No matter who you yell at, no matter what you do, you can NOT alter time. It has happened, those people are dead and yelling at others as you have is not going to bring them back. It's harsh, I know. But it is REALITY.

And honestly, I haven't exactly been alienated from the experience of seeing a child being shot. But that's a pity sob story no one's really interested in.

As for everyone else, please ignore this conversation and enjoy the chapter.

* * *

It was 3:00am in the morning when Dick Grayson woke up. He found himself back in his office, staring down at an old family photo he had taken with his parents back at the circus.

"Master Richard?"

Dick's head jerked up at the sound resonating from the intercom on his desk and frowned. He placed the family photo down, reached towards the small box and flipped the furthest switch.

"Yes? Is something wrong Harriet?"

"Oh Master Richard-I just keep thinking about that boy and…you. I mean, it was only a few hours ago and yesterday was also…"

The maid trailed off, not knowing what more she could say. Dick smiled at the worry he could hear in his aunt's voice. Kind of unusual, Harriet Cooper was his maid/aunt and here he was her master/nephew. Their relationship would forever be quite an awkward one-but it had worked for 13 years since the death of his parents…

So, if it ain't broke, don't fix it!

"It's OK Aunt Harriet. I'll meet you in the kitchen. We can make snicker-doddles!"

"Oh you!" a laugh followed the friendly jab and in no time at all-both members of the  
miniscule family were tucked away in their warm kitchen, baking the treats to perfection.  
It helped them take their mind off of the night that had just recently thrown the two for a loop; a loop that took them back to a red and white circus tent.

* * *

Bruce threw himself under the nearest piece of furniture he could lay his eyes on. Clamping the remnants of his thin jacket about his shoulders, he stuffed a free hand over his mouth to keep from whimpering when Dr. Mallory's footsteps began echoing down the hallway. The boy had finally gotten the door open and ran from the study as quickly as his small feet could carry him. Mentally, he was screaming for his parents to come find him and take him home.

-But they couldn't.

Because they were both dead, long gone. Were they in heaven? He hoped so.

Another loud stomping resounded through the floor and Bruce Wayne curled up in the shadows underneath the bed he had slid his small body beneath it the fear of the chase. His long , white collared shirt was long gone and the shredded jacket he had wrapped around his shoulders provided only so much warmth against the shining, lemon-scented hardwood floor. He had to keep himself from crying out or that mean doctor would find him again and-what would he do next?

The boy had only made an escape with his jacket because he had used the remnants of cloth as a makeshift whip so the man would let him go. Of course, the doctor had already been gripping the boy's shirt-so it had come off with a loud rip.

So now here he was-curled up underneath a big fancy bed with minimal dust bunnies for company, in a stranger's home with a loud voice that frightened him.

He was scared. Like many kids, he hated admitting it but-HE WAS SCARED!

Perhaps fate finally saw pity on him though, for when the footsteps stopped at the door  
to the bedroom a feminine voice called out, "Dr. Mallory, Mr. Thompson is here about that 'toy' shipment!"

"Oh yes! I'll be right down!"

Silence filled the air in the hallway and adjourning bedrooms for a long minute before a soft voice whispered fiercely, "I'll find you boy!"

Bruce's body jerked, he held his breath in with a quick gasp and a floorboard beneath him squeaked. He lay perfectly still and only breathed again when he heard the footsteps descending down the hallway and away from the room.

He had to get out of here! He had to escape! This doctor was a mad doctor! A mean doctor! He had to get away! He had to go…home.

Except, he didn't have a home any longer. His parents were dead. His world was shattered. What would happen to his home, Wayne Manor? What about all his toys, his mom's jewelry, his father's books? The library, the den? What about the kitchen, where one of his father's maids had left a cake for them to sample upon their return from the movie?

That cake would never be eaten.

And somehow-that made the pounding in his chest a lot more painful than the pain that was to come


	8. Chapter 7-Kindled

Nightwing was returning from a routine patrol the next evening, the Nightbird had gotten scuffed from an explosion earlier due to a new Meta-Human in Gotham called the Blue Bowman. Currently, Dick was debating if he should call Oliver Queen, AKA Green Arrow, and tell him that someone was ripping-off his name. Deciding to worry about it tomorrow morning though, he let his masked blue eyes travel out the tinted black windows and across the Nightbird's new paintjob. His special CO-OP team at Grayson Tech. had just finished the car's latest model. The old red car he had used previously was now in the garage of his NightTower. This newer model was sleeker, and displayed his trademark black and blue shades in place of the youthful red the last model had been painted with.

Of course it was faster, had more gadgets, better communication systems with home base, sharper turning, external speakers, an exceptionally improved security system, an optional voice-controlled operating program and many more extras he would have to list off in his head later. The team had really outdone themselves this time. He would have to give them a special Christmas bonus at the end of the year.

Unfortunately, now that he had run through everything about the new vehicle, there wasn't anything to distract him from thinking about the upcoming trial of Joe Chill. At that thought of instance, his mind also traveled to the boy. The boy… he had to be having nightmares. Dick Grayson knew how the nights would go about for the child. Well, it was a random mugging, Joe Chill would probably get the death sentence but the gear…it worried him.

That's all the police and he could find, those random sized gears with that stylized 'S' on the side.

Once again, he tried to will the thoughts away. That boy's face though…those eyes…he couldn't forget.

Without warning the emergency communication line in his Nightbird clicked on and Harriet's voice raced through the air to his ears.

"Master Richard!" a few short gasps followed and Nightwing was quick to try to calm his maid down.

"What is it Harriet?"

"Listen-"

There was a click and the hero recognized the background music of a local Gotham News Channel.

"-identified the house set ablaze as 2315 Brentwoodds Rd."

Eyes wide, Dick's right hand left the wheel of the Nightbird and reached for a green button on the dashboard. Damn! It was the same address! That kid!

One screech of the tires, turn on a proverbial pinhead, and accelerator to the floor later, the vigilante was racing BACK towards the city. Hell, he could feel it-something was wrong. Something about that kid-

UGH! Why couldn't this thing go faster!

* * *

He couldn't breathe! He couldn't breathe! He wanted out!

Tiny, pale fists pounded away on the steel door of the large safe as the boy whimpered. When that action failed to help him escape his prison though, Bruce grew desperate and began clawing at the seal lining at the doorway.

There had to be a way out! Why couldn't he breathe!

Gasping for breath at the thinning air, the young boy stumbled back until he stepped on a bag on the floor. He had already tried to open it before, but it was no use. He tried to calm down, but it just wasn't going to happen. He couldn't breathe; black spots were appearing before his eyes and with another breath of the lack of oxygen in the room, he fell to the side, his suddenly feverish cheek pressed to the cool metal floor.

He was going to die…

He was going to die…

And with that small resolution, a smile spread across his face.

"Mom…Dad…I'm coming," he whispered as darkness finally finished claiming his vision.

The last thing he felt though was some kind of heat, not from himself but from…the door?

* * *

"Commissioner, we have no hope of controlling this blaze!" a fireman yelled while supporting a 220lb fire hose, its stream aimed at the base of the house that was burning.

James Gordon had the now trembling Dr. Mallory in a choke hold, "WHERE'S THE KID!"

As if responding itself part of the decorative house's rooftop collapsed in and the man, in response to that, only whimpered. They couldn't get a sensible word out of him. Losing his patience, the Commissioner released the choke hold he had on the doctor and ran a hand through his hair.

"Hey, what's that?"

Gordon glanced up at two of his officers, who were pointing at something down the road  
that was speeding towards them. It took a few seconds before his ears could pick up the familiar sound of the engine. Before he could spit out the name though, the vehicle made a sharp turn on the road before speeding right up along the side of the house. A hiss of air sounded out, a panel on the Nightbird's side opened and two rockets were launched towards the house. On impact, they exploded into thick foam that coated and extinguished the fire.

The commissioner smiled in relief before the famed vigilante was beside him, "What happened? Where's the boy?"

The elderly officer glanced down at the half blubbering mass at his feet and sneered, "We can't get a word out of him and none of the firemen saw the boy inside before they had to get out themselves."

"I'm going in," Nightwing said, turning and running for the house while removing a breathing mask from his left arm gauntlet and sliding it over his face.

The front door was already broken down. True, most of the fire had been extinguished by the new polyicetate foam his R&D team was developing but there was still a fair amount of smoke clinging to the air. He heard a few firemen reenter the house behind him but after readjusting the lenses in his mask to make out the room more clearly, it was obvious that anyone weighed down even slightly was going to take a fairly long trip down to the floor below. Those firemen couldn't get very far into the house then.

Fortunately, he could go where they couldn't.

After finding a stuttering maid on an upper floor Nightwing returned to the police Commissioner out in front of the house, worried.

"The boy…" he muttered, handing the in shock woman over to a trio of police officers before turning back to James Gordon.

"Every one of them is in shock. We're not going to get anything."

Simultaneously, the two dropped their eyes to the ground at their feet in thought. Where was the boy? How had the fire started? Who was behind this?

* * *

A/N: Ch 8 will be posted in a few hours, and then I'm taking a break until New Year's. See you all then!

~Moonsetta


	9. Chapter 8-Helping Hand

Panic was the would-be perfect term for the chaos emotions that followed.

"Commissioner there's a separate fire in the basement!"

Both policeman and vigilante shot back inside the house where a new layer of darker smoke was now clouding up the rooms. When the two reached the large staircase though, they found half a dozen firemen fighting the blaze with handheld fire extinguishers. The men were only able to get halfway down the stairs though, given the other half was inflamed.

"Can you see anything!" Gordon yelled.

One of the fire extinguishers spit out the last of its foam and the fighter holding it backed up towards the Police Commissioner while pulling something from a hidden pocket,

"We found this!"

What he held out was the shredded base remaining cloth of a familiar jacket.

"The boy's down there!" Nightwing yelled, panicking.

The fireman nodded before he handed the cloth over to Gordon, "If he's down there, he's either dead or unconscious!"

After a round of coughing despite his own oxygen mask, the firefighter turned to the vigilante, who was scanning the upper area of the roaring flame for a clearing, his fingers repeatedly clenching, desperate to release his grappling hook and sail through the flames.

"No chance you could get your car in here?"

The vigilante did not answer. Instead, when the fireman and Commissioner blinked in unison, he was already gone…through the flames of the fire.

The two ignored the shouts of the other firefighters.

"IS HE CRAZY!"

"Most of the time I'm sure," Gordon muttered much too low for anyone without super hearing to catch.

* * *

He would have NEVER found the boy if it wasn't for a little kid's habit for leaving shoes untied. Landing on the slightly burned floor should have been easy for the world's greatest acrobat. If he hadn't have needed to pull himself to the side to avoid a large object he couldn't make out through the dark smoke. Swiftly swinging himself to the side of the object, he went to land and tripped on something small. Cursing under his breath and trying to ignore the highly unnecessary embarrassment, Nightwing got to his feet and adjusted the optical settings in his mask. He knelled back down and his eyes widened at the sight of what appeared to be a small, slightly burned black dress shoe. There was a small shine near the front. It had obviously been polished professionally under 24 hours ago.

So, the child should be near. Right?

Dick reached out for the child shoe, intending to stand up again and reevaluate the situation but a jerk stopped his preplanned movement. Reaching out and adjusting the lens in his mask to an even higher setting, his fingers found that one of the shoe strings was caught on something. The fire behind him was growing and setting up a dim glow. So a lucky sighting through the smoke allowed him to see, with help from the fire, that he was glancing up at the object that he had nearly run into. It was large, bulky, square and...made of steel.

Dropping the shoe and ripping off one of his gloves, the nerves beneath his skin confirmed his suspicion.

The cool metal of a large safe.

THE KID!

A bit frantic, Nightwing searched for the lock and handle of the safe. If the kid was in there…he didn't want to think about that too hard. With a large gasp his ungloved hand wrapped around the familiar shape of a combination lock. He didn't have time to learn it though. Quickly, he drew a vial from his left gauntlet and poured the liquid within it onto the combination dial. The liquid phosphorus quickly ate through the dial and the wheels behind it. Re-gloving his right hand, he reached through the hole, searching for the inner lever.

Found it!

Thank goodness his suit and gloves were designed for stuff like this.

Chunks of concrete, shavings of steel, bits of silicone and dusty vermiculite stuck to his glove as he pulled it back to take hold of the liquid phosphorus burned hole. Opening a giant safe door?-Not something that can be done too quickly. When the vigilante could finally see inside the humongous safe though-his heart skipped quite a few beats due to shock.

The child…

Fate can be cruel.

Life is not fair.

The child-

Was dead

* * *

A/N: See you at New Year's!


	10. Chapter 9-Jail Keep

From now on I'll list the characters in each chapter that way you can keep an eye out for your favorites!

Characters: Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Commissioner James Gordon, Barbara Gordon, Harriet Cooper, Chief O'Hara

* * *

The body was small and cold. There was no way Nightwing would ever forget how cold and still the boy was when he had pulled him from the 9ftX9ft safe in the basement of the once known Dr. Mallory, who he would later discover to actually be a big time human trafficking CEO in the Gotham underworld.

* The closest medic had pulled out a pulmotor as Nightwing laid the boy down onto the sidewalk and began his attempts to get the child breathing again. The vigilante stood back up and gazed over at the firemen and police officers exiting the house again, all of them coughing. Thankfully, the arrival of six other ambulances ensured that all of them were able to clear their airways of smoke due to various breathing machines.

"Nightwing?"

The Commissioner's voice brought the vigilante's eyes away from the prone form of the unmoving boy.

"Yes?"

"Any clue to how the fire started?"

"No," he said with a sigh.

THAT was a problem. He had seen no sparked or burned wires, no candles/melted piles of wax and the one fireplace the place did have hadn't shown any signs of being lit. In fact, the fireplace, which was in the main room, was one of the few areas that the fire hadn't reached. So how had the fire started?

"The boy's breathing!"

Dick was convinced that the Flash couldn't have turned faster than he did at the moment. Bruce had shot up and started dragging in deep breaths.

"Whoa, slow down kid," the hero said, resting a black and blue gloved hand on the child's shoulder.

Bruce's head snapped towards him, there was a clashing of blue eyes and then suddenly the boy began coughing, curling his fists into the remains of his tattered white dress shirt at his stomach.

"Easy," the medic soothed, mirroring the vigilante's previous order, "I know it doesn't feel like it but you are getting enough air, just take small deep breaths."

It was a long and silent two minutes before the child could breathe easily again. Though a minute later, no one there expected the child to start bawling. Absolutely BAWLING. Panicking, Nightwing pulled the child close to his chest only to have it beat on.

"LET ME GO!"

"Shh…"

"LET ME GO! WHY? WHY!"

"Look, I'm sorry about your-"

"I wanted to be with Mommy and Daddy!"

He just let Bruce hit him. Dang the little boy had some strength! His chest must be at least a bit bruised by the weak assault. Inevitably, after Nightwing had waved away officers and paramedics alike for a good ten minutes, the boy collapsed. The smoke, the crying, the fear, the tragedy-Bruce was both devastated and exhausted.

Behind Gotham's vigilante, James Gordon breathed a sigh of relief and removed his hands from over his ears, "Dang that little guy's got some lungs on him."

Dick chuckled sadly before readjusting his hold on the boy before getting to his feet.

Shaking his head, the police Commissioner kind of breathed the question instead of actually speaking, "Now if we could just figure out what started the fire."

"I did."

Both crime fighters' heads snapped down to stare at the boy in Nightwing's arms, whose eyes were open the tiniest bit, revealing the haunted blue hues beneath his short lashes.

* * *

Nightwing had left Bruce under the care of Commissioner Gordon before racing back to his base, ordering his maid to prepare one of the extra bedrooms for a guest and rushing upstairs just as his phone rang. Still in costume, he snatched it up off of his desk, quickly calmed his breaths and spoke happily into the cell.

"Hey boss! What's up? You need me to come in before nine again?"

"Thank goodness-I thought you would end up moving to France with how long you stayed in Paris."

"Nah, you know me Commish-Gotham's in my blood."

"Look-Belot's taking your evening shift. I need to see you in my office."

Dick groaned, "What did I do now?"

"Just get here." And then the Commissioner hung up.

Whew! Cover successfully NOT blown. It was definitely the most tiring part of the job! He was finally able to breathe easily again when he hung up.

"Master Richard what have I told you about loitering around in the house in your costume?"

The vigilante turned his head sharply to see his maid leaning back against doorframe of his office, a sad smile gracing her slightly withered face, "The room's ready."

Though she was probably receiving the least amount of stress from their past few nights, she did appear to have aged a few years in the short amount of time. The woman still had a large amount of blonde locks in her hair, though during the last few months the natural gray streaks were becoming more pronounced. Despite the stress, she was still in fair enough shape to whack Dick upside the head if she saw fit.

"Yeah, better not show up as Nightwing," Dick said with an offhanded sigh.

"Your uniform sir?"

Dick swore his maid had some kind of magical ability to pull objects out of thin air. And she had refused for years to teach him the secret! So, it was no surprise to him when the woman was already holding out his uniform for his day job. (Well, normally it was his day job; he did take the occasional evening, late night or morning shift when he could though.)

"Better get there Captain Grayson, before the Chief and Commissioner have to go see to some other emergency."

* * *

"Hi Captain Grayson," a light and soft voice spoke from behind the police HQ's main desk.

Dick's eyes flew up from the new tiles he saw that had been put down since his last shift and met the eyes of a well-known, fiery red head.

"Ms. Gordon," he said with a tilt of his head and charming smile, "WAIT! Now what did I say about that whole rank thing?"

Barbara Gordon jumped up from her chair and leaned forward over the desk as he approached her. She was always greeting him when he came in and as she WAS the Commissioner's daughter they ended up working together a lot. Like her father, she could stand late nights and rise early in the mornings. Though, given she was only 16, she had yet to convince her father to allow her to join the GCPD. For the time being she worked with the communication team, directing squads and receiving emergency calls. At least, she did so part time since she was still finishing school and James Gordon was adamant that his niece turned daughter was going to college.

Still though, Dick had to admit that she was a sight. The bright red hair, the big blue eyes, soft skin-not that he'd felt it or anything! And he should stop his thoughts RIGHT NOW!

"You start calling me Barbara or I refuse to drop the Captain, Richard."

Uh oh!

The officer laughed under his breath, "As you wish, Babs."

"That's better Dick. Now go on, Dad's waiting for you," she said, motioning her head down the nearest hallway to her father's office.

The walk would have been a simple one, if Chief O'Hara hadn't been 'guarding' the door. It was no secret among the GCPD that Chief O'Hara looked forward to working with Nightwing but working with Captain Grayson was something he hadn't yet accepted. OK, to be fair, the Chief almost outright hated Dick Grayson. They didn't work together at all because O'Hara was…stubbornly convinced that the circus acrobat turned rich police captain was a fluke of fate. Rumors had been circling around with the officers, that since O'Hara was quite chronologically advanced and growing more so every day, that the Commissioner was looking to force him into retirement and replace him with the millionaire Captain.

Said rumors hadn't helped the Captain's and Chief's working relationship at ALL.

"Chief O'Hara," Dick said solemnly with a salute.

After all, as Chief-he was still his boss.

The Chief just scoffed, glared and bit his lip as he moved away from the Commissioner's office door. Dick knew that O'Hara watched him and his police work like a hawk and would never fail to let him know of any and all mistakes.

Oh well, at least it kept him on his toes.

"Captain Grayson."

Gah! It sounded like long ugly non-manicured nails sliding down a chalkboard! Shiver!

He did NOT waste a second entering the Commissioner's office. Finally, time to face the music!

* * *

The young boy was curled up on the cot that the James kept in his office for the instances where he had to stay at HQ overnight and the Commissioner himself was leaning against his work desk, reading over a packet of papers. Without even looking up from said papers, he spoke.

"O'Hara still giving you the evil eye?"

"As always," Dick said while rolling his eyes before he turned his head towards the sleeping child.

Time to play ignorance. After all, Captain Grayson knew nothing about the case or the child.

"You are aware that there's a little…thing sleeping on your bed, right?"

"Yes Grayson I'm aware," he growled and Dick stepped back at the anger he could feel in the voice.

After the Police Commissioner realized how he had spoken, he threw down the folder onto the floor and breathed deeply before speaking again, "Sorry, tonight's been…stressful."

"Anything I can help with sir?"

"Yeah, the kid. Can you keep him?"

"What!" he feigned shock, unaware that the pitch in his voice had caused the young boy to awaken.

James sighed, "Look, I have Barbara, O'Hara is getting on in years and we already had one incident with this child."

"Is he trouble?" keep feigning ignorance.

The Commissioner scooped the folder off of the floor and motioned to the chair beside him, "Sit, I'll let you go over everything."

Dick spent the next half an hour pretending to be surprised by the case and event, but what caught his attention the most was that the boy had admitted, yet again, to starting the fire.

"Did he give any reason?"

James sighed largely, "He barely says anything at all. Probably still in shock."

"And how long will this have to be?" Dick asked acting like it would slightly inconvenience him.

"I've got Stevenson working on nearby foster homes. It'll just be for tonight at the least, tomorrow night at the latest."

"OK but…another foster home after this?" Dick asked, holding up the folder.

"Stop acting Dick, I know kids love you and you love kids."

"…" blink, blink.

"You do have your experience as a P. E. teacher on your resume, you know."

Oh yeah…

"Well, I better get going."

"Yeah," the Commissioner sighed, walking over and shaking the little kids shoulder, "Bruce, wake up."

The boy, having heard the conversation, took his own selfish sweet time to open his eyes completely. He had been lying with them closed for the entire conversation between the adults.

"Yes?"

James smiled sweetly and Bruce knew what he was about to be told was going to be sugar-coated, "Hey, this is my friend Richard Grayson."

Pretending like he'd never met the kid before, Dick approached him swiftly and with a big smile, "Hi there Bruce. Listen, I'm going to take care of you for a few days OK?"

"Then what?"

"Don't worry, we'll find you a nice family," the Police Commissioner said with a smile that was a bit truer than the last.

Bruce said nothing more. Didn't WANT to say anything more.

"Alright then, let's go! I have a big house and a maid that makes awesome snicker doodles!"

The boy, still quiet, tried and failed to fight back a yawn. Dick felt like femininely cooing at the display but had an image to maintain! So, he kept on his welcoming, accepting smile, held out his hand and waited for the boy to take it. In return, the boy didn't exactly take his hand; just kind of let his own hand fall into the larger one. Finally pulling the child onto his feet, Dick turned back to his boss.

"I'll call you tomorrow morning."

"Yes sir."

* * *

The Captain's cruiser was more advanced than the basic cruisers given to your everyday police cadet. So it had better speed, turning, a superior navigation system and he shouldn't be thinking of it at the moment…

-Because he was holding a sleeping eight-year-old boy in his arms.

"Oh, the little guy must be exhausted," Barbara sighed.

The red head had insisted that she escort the two of them outside when Dick had turned just in time to catch the boy when he collapsed.

"I'm sure."

"Thanks for taking him in for a little while. I'm sure Dad's informed you of-"

"Yeah. I couldn't have said no. I know what it's like."

"Dick, I'm sorry if this is-"

"It's OK. Just keep your father on his toes and if you can do anything about that rumor maybe I could finally stay in the same room with Chief O'Hara for more than 15 seconds."

"I'll try, but you know? Gossip. It's how it is."

"Unfortunately," Dick said with a deep breath when they reached his cruiser.

Dick placed Bruce in the front seat, buckled him up and then closed the door to turn back and face Barbara.

"I could stop by tomorrow. You know-to check on him and report to Dad."

Chuckling under his breath Dick agreed and reached out to just lightly touch her hand, "Just don't lose focus in school. You are having Finals this week."

The redhead groaned as if being tortured, "Don't remind me. But, a movie on Friday wouldn't be too bad a reward for passing with flying colors."

"Your father would kill me."

"He hasn't killed you yet."

Dick crossed his arms, frowning, "We've had coffee, once."

"All the more reason to see a movie?"

The acrobat chuckled and smiled despite the doubts poking at the back of his mind, "I'll see you tomorrow, Babs."

"Bye Dick."

* * *

A/N: New characters appearing in the next chapter: Alfred Pennyworth and Helena Bertinelli.

Happy New Years!

*Free one-shot if you can name BOTH the literary device I used in this passage and which issue of Batman it references.

P.S. I'll update on Jan 10th. I recently got word that my great aunt just died of a heart attack that came out of the blue so my family's going to be around for some time and the funeral is going to be outside of town so I'm not sure what's going to happen there...anyways I'll type when I can.

~Moonsetta


	11. Chapter 10-Garnet in the Smoke

A/N:Hi everyone! I'm back!

Well, thank you all for your condolences about my loss. The funeral was...depressing, sad, I think everyone cried, it took five hours to get the grave site and now my great grandmother has outlived three of her children. I feel for her. Oh and I discovered that the man I knew as my grandfather previously, isn't actually my dad's father. So yeah, that's something for me to think about and-sorry I've been ranting, you came here for the story.

* * *

The conversation in the cruiser was awk-weird!

"So, what's your name?"

"Bruce Thomas Wayne."

Did the boy have to sound like a robot?

"Umm, do you like watching cartoons?"

He's a child! Of course he likes watching cartoons!

"Only the Gray Ghost."

That shocked Dick, "The Gray Ghost? But that series ended over ten years ago."

"I still like it!"

The elder jerked at Bruce's loud voice and had to readjust his hold on the steering wheel. OK. Sensitive kid. Got it.

A sudden silence swept itself into the vehicle and seemed to guide Dick's thoughts to the subject that he had punctually previously planned to avoid at least for the remainder of the drive if not the entire endearing evening.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

It took three minutes for the child to say anything. In that time, Dick switched on the radio in the car and allowed a soft show tune to try to fill the silence.

"I hope they kill him."

Yikes! OK, Dick couldn't say that he hadn't seen that coming. After all, it had been YEARS but…

Well, some things you just couldn't get over-EVER!

"What then kid?"

With an uncharacteristic immediate response, the youngster curled up in the seat, bringing his knees up to his chest, crossing his arms over his kneecaps and almost violently burying his suddenly streaming eyes into said crossed arms. And he just…cried. This wasn't the bawling cry after the fire, or even the one in the alleyway. This one cry was just…sad. Just sad.

And Captain Richard Grayson of the BHPD and part time Gotham Vigilante…did not know what to do. His past experience with children had only gone as low as those kids that were poor. He now felt shame. Gotham's orphans might have liked when he was teaching the high wire. He could've invited them to his gym. He could've. The school he had worked for had long since built a new gym and he hadn't been back to see the old building. Maybe he should…yeah, he could see about remodeling and hire some people and…

The tired police commander released a sigh…first things first-get the boy back to the house. Harriet would probably take care of everything for the boy; she hadn't been able to spoil a child for years so she would probably be waiting on the boy hand and foot.

Well, they would be there soon. It would only be a ten minute drive once they hit the edge of the city.

Plans did not always work. OK, they rarely worked but this was just a bad night all around.

The cruiser had just reached the last turn when a shot rang out in the night air and made the boy scream. Dick slammed on his breaks and his eyes jetted towards the shine of a red and blue light on a no outlet street some 30 yards away. Normally, he wouldn't check it out; the GCPD had a reliable number of good officers but then the entire scene began rattling out bullets. A full out gun fight!

He turned to the boy and sharply ordered him not to move from the vehicle until he came back. The boy was curled into such a tight ball that for a moment, Dick thought he might actually curl out of existence. Still though, he had a gunfight to see to. Yes, it was bad to leave the child in the car but it was either that or a shootout. He didn't have much choice in the matter.

* * *

Dick rolled to avoid a hail of gunfire and landed behind the cruiser that a single female officer was using as cover against a shooting gang of one dozen members.

"What's going on here!"

The woman turned, her ebony hair partially hiding her face. Still, Dick knew the face, even behind the dark curtain.

"Bertinelli?"

Yeah, one time Chief O'Hara had assumed that women in the force preferred to be called by their first names as opposed to their last names. He had walked away with the bruised imprint of Helena's boot on his face. Poor guy.

"Captain. What are you doing here?"

"Heard the commotion," Dick said and ducked his head to avoid another bullet, "REPORT!"

"They corned this guy," Helena motioned to a lump leaning against the far, "I stepped in and then-boom!"

On the cue of boom! Helena turned, took aim and shot two of the men in their shoulders. Thankfully, the force threw them back into a nearby building's brick wall and knocked them out.

"Two down, ten to go," Helena muttered before turning to her spontaneously elected partner for the night, "Captain, check on the civilian."

Dodging more bullets coming through the windows, Dick rushed to the far wall where he found a slightly elderly man holding a hand to his bloody shoulder. First things first, check for shock.

"Sir, are you conscious?"

"Yes officer."

The man raised his head and the CGPD Captain almost lost his grip on the man's uninjured arm.

"Let me see your shoulder."

"I assure you officer, I am quite well. Please focus your energies on taking down those scoundrels."

And in the end that is what they did. Turns out for the big reigning show of bullets…the gang hadn't kept their ammo even adequately stocked. In the end the two officers were able to knock out eight of them, counting the two that were already unconscious, while one knocked himself out by running into the brick wall of a different building, two fell into an open manhole and the last was stopped when he ran into the group of sewer workers that had opened the manhole.

"Thanks for your help," Dick said with a nod at the sewer group while he lead the three gang members back to the shootout sight, handcuffing and dragging the unconscious guy that knocked himself out with them.

Well, he had quite a story for Harriet now.

The workers shouted back their wishes for his evening to be good and Dick had to roll his eyes. Well, nothing had exactly been EASY tonight. It'd been fifteen minutes…he had to get back to the kid. When he got back to the shootout sight, he found Officer Helena Bertinelli with an open medical kit by the injured civilian. The kit had a bullet through the upper right corner…well at least it had just been a bottle of Tylenol. He also noticed that all of the other gang members were unconscious and handcuffed to the police cruiser that now resembled a piece of Swiss cheese.

"Sir?" Dick spoke quietly.

He heard one of his prisoners mutter-mock his concern and promptly stomped on the guy's foot. At which he found out that Tony Varis of the RattleNeck gang screamed like a little girl.

"I assure you officer I am fine."

After hooking the remainder of the prisoners to the Swiss-cheese car via handcuffs, good thing all of the GCPD officers managed to carry around a lot of them, although, if there had been one more baddie they would've had to resort to zip ties, he made his way over to the injured man and crouching officer.

"What's your name old timer?" Officer Bertinelli asked as, since she finished dressing the shoulder wound-which surprisingly wasn't bleeding much, she began putting away the first-aid equipment.

"I will have you know young miss I am in the prime of my life," the kind of elderly gentleman said with a authoritative shake of his head.

Helena sighed and went over to her cruiser to punch one of the guys upside the head because he:

"Was being annoying!" Helena would later say.

Accustomed to the younger officer's attitude, Dick moved to the gentleman's side instead, "Sorry, Officer Bertinelli's not good with-"

"ANYONE! I FREAKING HATE PEOPLE!"

"She's met a poor night. Ah, where my manners? I am Alfred Pennyworth."

Now with the shoulder bandaged he could properly shake hands.

"Captain Grayson of the GCPD."

"Captain?" the man raised an eyebrow, "I see-quite impressive for one so young."

Dick blushed at the compliment, "Uh, thanks."

"And the young lady?"

"We just call her Officer Bertinelli."

Alfred's other eyebrow went up, "And, I presume, nothing more?"

"No one's tried it since the incident of Chief O'Hara." Dick said with a smile.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY FREAK!"

Alfred Pennyworth and Richard Grayson turned just in time to see Helena slam two of the guys' heads together in rage.

"And that's my cue to call for a wagon," Dick muttered before really looking at Helena and realizing, "Hele... uh-let me guess, it was Ben?"

Helena didn't need to explain if it was Ben when she took out her cruiser's last remaining window with her boot.

In the end Dick said goodbye to the man that he found out was only recently arrived in Gotham, and headed back to his cruiser before the wagon could arrive. Helena and Alfred had both promptly stated that they hadn't seen him until the gun fight was over.

* * *

He had expected it but a small part of him had hoped that the kid would not run off but when Captain Grayson got back to his darkened cruiser-the child was long gone. Surprisingly he found himself NOT panicking. The seat was still warm so the boy couldn't have gotten far…

And he ALMOST just ALMOST screamed when a hand grabbed onto his pants leg and pulled him towards a pair of bushes sitting out on a shallow bed of wood chips. He spun quickly, his hand landing on his nightstick when he saw the wide blue eyes in between the bushes. Bruce was crying, silently, but…crying.

"Bruce. Look, I'm sorry buddy-it took a little while to catch all of the bad guys and-"

He was promptly cut off by a live rocket launching itself towards his chest and sticking to him like Velcro.

Stupefied by this event, Dick just let his arms hang at his side as the boy tried and failed to keep a grip on his uniform shirt and slid down to where the child simply buried his head into his hip. Although his knowledge of the boy had only stretched over a few days, he knew that Bruce was not one to initiate contact in any manner or form.

"Are you OK? I'm sorry if you were scared-"

"I thought you'd been shot…"

And now that Dick thought about it in its entirety, the boy had just saw his parents gunned down, Dick had promised to take care of Bruce and he had run off into a gunfight. IDIOT!

"Hey, it's OK. I'm OK."

"…"

"Bruce?"

"Did you kill them?"

Gulp.

* * *

A/N: OK, look Helena's just had a very bad day-that's why she's so pissed off, not because she's gone mental. Oh and don't worry Alfred's gonna be in the next chapter too with a more prominent role.

New characters appearing in the next chapter: Oliver Queen (Green Arrow), Kate Kane (No hero alias as of yet-help me out here by suggesting names people) and Dinah Lance (Black Canary)

BTW, I'm glad a lot of people attempted the challenge last chapter and someone HAS guessed the reference but not the literary device so I'll keep that challenge open for another two chapters and if it's gone unanswered by then I'll just create another one.

Thanks for viewing, reading, reviewing, favoriting, following and tolerating. You all rule!


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